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  “It’s alright,” Yank said. He was standing near the small porthole.

  “What’s that sound?”

  “We’re nipped.”

  “What?”

  “We’re stuck fast in the ice. The sound’s caused by the pressure of the ice against our hull.”

  “Will it crush us?”

  “No.”

  She climbed off the berth, dragging a blanket with her, and padded to the porthole to peek out. “Why, look at that. We’re practically on land.”

  “Yes. There’s nothing to fear. If necessary we could walk across the ice on planks or be pulled on sleds to wait for the company coaches to retrieve us.”

  “I had better get dressed.”

  “When the sun gets up a little higher they’ll start breaking the ice and we’ll be underway again.”

  “I’d rather have my clothes on in any event.”

  “I rather prefer you wrapped in a blanket.”

  “I’m glad you mentioned that.”

  “What?”

  “Being wrapped in a blanket. Your Shawnee friends may be put off if I’m wearing European clothes.”

  “Many of the Shawnee women wear European clothing.”

  “The significant women will be dressed traditionally.”

  “Well, if you think it’s important, we can buy a buckskin dress for you in Oswego.”

  “It’s important to your status in the tribe.”

  He watched her a moment. “I’m going up on deck to check on the status of the ice.”

  “Wait.”

  He stopped.

  “Do you have questions for me?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “I can feel the barrier between us. What must I do?”

  “Give it time.”

  “Perhaps we should talk about it.”

  He shook his head. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

  February 12, 1806

  Ohio Country

  Marina’s horse stumbled and sent her sprawling into the snow.

  Yank slid off his horse and waded through the deep drifts to help her up. “Are you all right?” he shouted over the wind.

  “Only my pride is injured.” Her voice was nearly lost in the shrill howl of the blizzard.

  He began brushing the snow off her. “We have to build a shelter.”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “But the horses aren’t. They’re too cold.”

  “I’ve seen horses on the open range survive with no ill effects after being covered with ice.”

  “Stop arguing with me. The blankets and saddles defeat the insulation of their fur. We have to unsaddle them and curry their hair or they’ll freeze.”

  She turned her back to the wind. “That waterfall we just passed probably had a cave behind it.”

  “Too cold. We’ll build a snow shelter on the leeward side of that high drift. It’s probably a deadfall.” He began leading the horses toward the drift and leaned closer to shout in her ear. “If the tree isn’t too old the snow will have built up on the branches and it’ll be hollow inside. If not, we’ll dig under it.”

  She didn’t answer until they reached the mound of snow. “Do we have anything to dig with or do we use our hands?”

  “There’s an entrenching tool in my pack.”

  “Get it for me and I’ll dig while you unsaddle the horses.”

  “No. You need to start brushing your horse as soon as I take the saddle and blanket off.”

  “Do you have two brushes?”

  “I have a brush and a currycomb. We’ll need to use both to get their hair un-matted. I’ll show you.”

  “It’s cold.”

  “I noticed.”

  It took half an hour to curry and brush the horses to Yank’s satisfaction, then he dug a hole in the snow-covered deadfall and tossed their saddles and gear inside the hollow space. “Crawl in, Marina but don’t get under the trunk. It could fall from the weight of the snow.”

  “Oh that sounds interesting. Are you sure we wouldn’t be better off behind the waterfall?”

  “Yes, I’m very sure. Get in there.” She crawled in and he followed her, closing the entrance with a horse blanket tied to tree branches. “Help me push the saddles up under the trunk so that it can’t fall on us.”

  “The pine needles are still green. This tree just fell recently.”

  “That’s no guarantee that the branches holding up the trunk won’t suddenly collapse.”

  She crawled up beside him and helped wedge the saddles under the tree trunk. “I gather you’ve done this before,” she grunted.

  “Yes, but this is the first time I’ve had to make one big enough for two.”

  They worked for some time, scooping out a depression and lining it with pine boughs until Marina suddenly stopped. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was it?”

  “Wolves.”

  “Wolves?”

  “Yes. They’ve been following us for a while.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry. The horses aren’t tied or hobbled. They should be able to fight off a small pack.”

  “I was thinking about us, not the horses.”

  “A few of the braver wolves might snuffle around and dig at the snow but they won’t come inside.”

  “Why won’t they?”

  “I don’t know why, I just know they won’t.”

  She was quite for a few seconds. “And the horses?”

  “I thought you weren’t worried about the horses.”

  “I changed my mind. You said that they could fight off a small pack.”

  “That isn’t exactly what I said.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t start arguing semantics with me now.”

  He shrugged.

  “What about a large pack?”

  He shrugged again.

  “And if the horses aren’t tied or hobbled won’t they run away?”

  “They might, but they’ll be easy to track in the snow.”

  “Are you listening to what you’re saying, John?”

  He stopped packing snow and looked at her. “What do you want from me, Marina? If I tied or hobbled the horses the wolves would get them for sure. This way we have a chance that we’ll have one or both horses to ride tomorrow.”

  “In other words you’ve just left everything up to fate.”

  “I think God did that when he sent this blizzard. All I’m doing is the best I can do to keep us alive. Are you going to help me with this, or not?” He went back to packing snow.

  She bent down to help. “Why didn’t you share any of this wisdom with us when we were freezing on the Llano Estacado?”

  “Keeping everyone moving was the right thing to do then and that’s what I did. This is the right thing to do now.”

  She shivered as a wolf howled nearby and another answered. “I intend to sleep with my pistol cocked.”

  “If that makes you feel better, go ahead. But it’s probably too cold to fire.”

  February 14, 1806

  Ohio Country

  When Yank broke out of the snow shelter, the world was blazing white beneath a bright sun and a clear blue sky.

  “Do you see the horses?” Marina asked from behind him.

  “No.” He crawled out, stood up and gave her his hand. “No tracks either. It must have snowed another foot after they ran off.” His breath produced a dense cloud of vapor.

  She stood up, brushed the snow off her knees and looked around. “Do we stay here and wait for the snow to melt or walk?”

  He pointed to the north. “Well, the wind kept the ridges fairly clear so I think we should try to see how far we can get.”

  “What if the ridges don’t lead to Wapakoneta?”

  He shrugged. “We’ll fight our way through the drifts to the next ridge and keeping going as far as we can.”

  “And get lost?”

  “Marina, you don’t seem to understand. There’s no perfec
t answer. We stay here and certainly die or we go on and try not to die.”

  She looked back into the shelter. “I better repack. We can’t carry all that on our backs.”

  “Leave it all. I have everything that we need in my pockets.”

  “The pistols? Our extra clothes?”

  “Leave them. They’re useless.”

  “We could wear some of the clothes. They’d keep us warmer.”

  “They’d make us too warm and we’d perspire. Wet clothes would kill us as sure as a bullet.” He caught her hand. “Come on.”

  They walked for three hours, staying on the ridges for a time then wading through snow to get to another ridge until they at last came to a wide stream.

  “Now what?” Marina asked.

  “No choice.” Yank pointed across the stream. “Wapakoneta is that way.”

  Marina pulled off her glove and tested the water with her fingers. “Cold.”

  He nodded. “Take off your clothes and tie them in a bundle.” He began undressing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’ll wade across and I’ll carry our clothes.”

  “There must be another way.”

  “Yes. The other way is to sit here and freeze to death.”

  “We’ll freeze in the process of wading across here.”

  “It’ll feel like it, but we’ll make it. Get your clothes off.”

  She undressed slowly then naked and shivering, tied her clothes in a bundle. “I’ve never been so cold in my life.”

  He picked up her clothes bundle and tied it to his. “If you can still talk, you’ll be able to say that again and really mean it in another few seconds.” He took her hand. “Everything in you is going to be telling you to stop but you have to resist and keep going.”

  She looked at him and didn’t answer.

  “Tell me you can do this, Marina.”

  “I can do this,” she said through chattering teeth.

  “Good.” Holding the clothes bundle over his head, Yank stepped off the bank into knee deep water and helped her down.

  “Oh Lord,” she gasped.

  He moved forward testing the bottom.

  Marina had her free hand in the air trying to keep her balance on the sharp rocks.

  “There’s a step down here.” He led her into the deeper water.

  She gasped as the water came up to her breasts.

  “You can do it, Marina.”

  She took two more staggering steps, then slipped and went under.

  Yank dropped the bundle of clothes and dove to pull her up.

  She regained her feet, wide eyed and spluttering.

  With a grunt, Yank plucked her from the water, put her over his shoulder and waded to the other side where he plopped her down in the snow. Unable to speak he pointed at the water and waded back in to chase the bundle of clothes that was floating away.

  When he got back to Marina with the dripping bundle, they were both blue and shivering too badly to speak. After a brief look at their surroundings, Yank began to dress in the wet clothes. Marina, unable to think for herself, followed his example.

  When they were dressed, Yank tried to carry Marina but found it to be futile.

  She shook her head and after two failed attempts, struggled to her feet.

  He gave her his best imitation of a smile, took her hand and began walking.

  They followed along the east side of a dense forest for a mile where the trees had filtered the snowfall and the sun could warm them as they walked. Yank was regaining his strength but Marina was flagging.

  “Can we rest a minute?” she murmured.

  “No,” Yank replied. “We’re soaking wet and we have no dry clothes. If we stop the cold will sap our strength and we’ll die.”

  She trudged on for a time then looked at Yank again. “I can’t feel my feet.”

  He stopped. “You better not be exaggerating.”

  She shook her head and sat down.

  “No.” He dragged her to her feet, bent her over his shoulder and trudged on.

  After about a mile he came to a small round-topped hill standing above a dead lightning struck birch. Summoning all of his strength, he slogged up the hill then put her down on the rocky, windswept pinnacle. “Take off your moccasins,” he panted. “Then rub your feet with your hands.”

  She shook her head.

  “Do it, God damn it.”

  He ran down the hill to break some dead branches off a birch, then ran back and dropped the wood. Marina was halfheartedly rubbing her bare feet. “Rub harder,” he growled.

  “It hurts,” she whined.

  “Good.” He knelt and peeled curls of wood from one of the branches with his knife then used the flint and steel to shower the shaving with sparks until they began to smolder. He dropped to the ground and blew gently. With each breath, the glowing red ember grew larger. At last, a weak flame popped up then went out producing a tiny column of smoke. He quickly added shaving and started again. Finally, when a sustainable flicker was attained, he began adding more fuel. “Take off all your clothes.”

  She looked at him bleary-eyed.

  “Now, Marina, now. Your lips are blue. The wet clothes are doing more harm then good.” He raced back down the hill and began ripping bark off the dead birch. “Marina,” he bellowed. “Get those clothes off.”

  She began to fumble with the buttons on her coat.

  Yank ran up the hill and knelt at the fire, carefully feeding it the slabs of birch bark. “Can you stand up?”

  She shook her head.

  He reached out, caught her ankle then dragged her closer to the fire. “I’ll be right back.” He made another trip to the birch tree and climbed up to bounce on a limb until it broke, then he dragged it back to the fire and began to frantically strip Marina, who seemed to have fallen asleep. “Wake up,” he shouted. “Damn you, woman. Fight.”

  “Cold,” she murmured.

  “I know.” He struggled to hold her while he stripped off his own clothes. Then he sat down facing the fire with Marina between his knees and her back against his bare chest. “You’ll be fine in a few minutes. Do you feel the heat?”

  She put her head back against him and sighed.

  They sat like that until the fire got too hot, and then moved away. When it began to burn down, Yank left her to gather more wood. As he started back, a tall Indian on a painted horse suddenly appeared before him like magic. Yank dropped the armload of wood and staggered back three steps.

  “You are three days late, Yangee. Very bad manners.”

  Yank staggered and then fell to his knees. “Catecahassa,” he said, looking up at the mounted Indian. “I have never been happier to see anyone in my entire life.”

  February 15, 1806

  Wapakoneta, Ohio Country

  “Your woman has strength, Yangee,” Black Hoof chuckled.

  “Yes,” Yank agreed.

  They were seated around the fire in front of Black Hoof’s lodge with about a dozen other men. A few women and children sat near a second fire. Marina was in a nearby lodge, nursing a boy who had been gored by a deer.

  “She speaks strangely with an Algonquin tongue but says she is a daughter of Montezuma.”

  “If she says so it must be true,” Yank answered, not sure what Black Hoof was implying.

  Black Hoof shook his head emphatically. “I have no doubt that she speaks the truth. I just find it remarkable that it was you, my white brother, who found her.”

  The men around the fire all nodded and grunted agreement.

  Yank was baffled by the chief’s words but could think of no way to question him without exposing his complete ignorance of the Shawnee ways. “What news of Tecumseh and his brother?”

  Black Hoof was silent for almost a full minute but just as Yank was about to repeat the question he spoke. “There will be war again.”

  “Soon?”

  Black Hoof shook his head. “It will take a few years to build his confederacy.”


  “We continue to hear stories in Washington of the British supplying weapons to the nations and provoking them to attack American settlements.”

  “So you told me when last you were here.”

  “And still you have heard nothing of this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How can that be?”

  “It can only be that the stories are not true.”

  “Why would anyone lie about a thing like that?”

  “Land.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Black Hoof turned around and pointed to a young woman at the other fire then pointed at the lodge where Marina was helping the boy. The young woman quickly ran toward the lodge and Black Hoof smiled at Yank. “We will bring your woman to translate.”

  “I understood your words, Catecahassa, but I do not understand their meaning.”

  Black Hoof nodded. “We need more words than we have.”

  Yank looked back to watch Marina move through the women toward the fire. She was wearing a deerskin dress and looked like she belonged here.

  Black Hoof invited her to sit with the men then conversed with her animatedly at some length. They spoke too fast and used so many unfamiliar words that Yank gave up trying to follow and waited from Marina’s translation.

  Marina at last turned to Yank. “Chief Catecahassa says that there are many greedy men on the frontier who would like to see a war between the Americans and the British.”

  “For what purpose?” Yank asked.

  “To take Canada from Britain and make it part of the United States.”

  The explanation overwhelmed Yank for a moment and he didn’t reply.

  Black Hoof was speaking again and Marina began translating as he spoke. “Catecahassa says that he knows for certain that one report of a raiding party armed with muskets was fabricated,” Marina listened a moment. “He says that the raiders were actually only a few young Erie boys who slipped in among some drunken trappers to steal their horses. He says that the two white men that were wounded shot each other in panic.” She looked at Black Hoof for a moment then back at Yank. “Catecahassa wants to know if you understand.”

  “Yes, yes,” Yank replied.

  “Understand was the wrong word,” she corrected. “He wants to know if you accept what he says.”